


No Shortage of Blood

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Antagonism, Banter, Blood Drinking, Captivity, Developing Relationship, Explicit Language, Frottage, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, vague references to childhood trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-11-27 19:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20953778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: It's bad enough that Rob got sloppy and let himself get jumped and locked up in a basement. But no, to add insult to injury, his only company is a fucking bloodsucker.





	No Shortage of Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jougetsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/gifts).

> Many, many thanks to Sara for all her help polishing and Americanizing the story, and to S. for the encouragement and advice. ♥
> 
> Jougetsu, when I saw you requesting the tag (it was my nomination) I was so excited! I really hope that you enjoy this and have a fantastic Canon Ball. :D

"Let me go, you stupid motherfuckers, or I swear you're gonna regret it."

Rob's angry tirade works in the most literal sense: his captors let go of him like he asked when they shove him into a dingy cell. 'Course, that does fuck-all to help him. The door rattles loudly as it falls shut while Rob is still busy picking himself off the floor, releasing another string of curses. 

"You can't just fucking leave me here!" he yells. 

No one replies. There's no other sound but Rob's heavy breathing and the dull, softening shuffle of retreating footsteps outside the cell. 

Rob throws himself against the door with his full weight in an outburst of violent desperation that has sharp pain blazing through his shoulder and all the way down his arm at the impact, but the door doesn't give an inch and the guys who threw him in here don't come back even when he keeps screaming insults and obscenities while hammering with his fists against the unyielding metal.

"You should save your strength," says a voice, coming from the shadows to his left. "And my ears. All that shouting and kicking won't get you anywhere."

Rob's head snaps around. His eyes are gradually adjusting to the poor light down here, and it's only now that he realizes that there's another cell next to his, separated by sturdy looking iron bars. Within is a man sitting on the ground with his back propped up against the far wall, long legs stretching out in front of him. He's looking too fucking comfortable – a picture of relaxation that sets Rob on edge.

"Look, pal, if you're down with being locked up in some shitty hole in the middle of fucking nowhere, I ain't gonna stop you. Me, I'm gonna get out of here." Rob steps closer to the bars dividing their cells to take a good look at his companion in misfortune.

The other guy looks up and scoffs. "And how are you gonna do that? Scream at the door until it opens? Good luck with that." 

He's Rob's age, maybe a couple years younger, handsome in the too clean, too smart kinda way unique to sheltered white-collar guys that always makes Rob itch to dirty them up a little and make them beg for more. His face is clean-shaven, which suggests he hasn't been a prisoner for long. Unless those assholes are handing out razors.

And then he smiles, wide and humorless and full of teeth, his long, sharp fangs gleaming in the pale sodium glow.

_Fucking_ hell.

Rob instinctively pulls back, stumbling over his own feet in his hurry to put some distance between himself and the creature. 

"A fucking vamp," he hisses. "You gotta be kidding me."

He kicks at the dirt. He didn't think today could get any worse but no, he didn't just get beaten and locked up, he also only got a vampire as his only damn company. He'd rather be stuck down here alone.

"Well, aren't you a smart one?" The vampire's tone is dripping with sarcasm. Its unnaturally dark eyes watch Rob from across the two cells. Something about the inhuman stare makes the creature seem much closer than it really is. "Hunter, I presume?"

Rob glares at it, balling his hands into fists, so tightly that his bones ache. He wishes he still had his wooden stake but they took it away when they first grabbed him, along with his knife and his phone. He's fairly sure the vampire can't get to him through those bars, but he'd still feel a hell of lot safer and more confident with a weapon at his side. 

"Go drown in holy water, vamp. I don't fucking talk to monsters."

The vampire has the nerve to roll its eyes, the look of exasperation on its face making it look almost like a real person. 

"You gotta be kidding me," it mutters under its breath, presumably to itself, but loud enough that Rob hears it. Considering how silent and stealthy those fuckers can be if they want, Rob's certain that making sure the words are overheard is a deliberate choice.

He bites his tongue and refuses to let it get a rise out of him.

#

"What's your name?"

Rob startles at the sound of the vampire's voice. 

He's given up trying to find a way out of his prison what must have been hours ago, temporarily admitting defeat. The vampire had been right: there's no obvious way to escape. If their captors are nearby, they don't react to calls and taunts; and if brute strength would help, it's safe to assume the vampire would have managed to break out already. Rob's best chance, he figures, is probably to wait until those assholes who thought it was a fun idea to lock up a vampire and a hunter together for shits and giggles come back and then jump them. Hardly the best plan, but it's all he's got right now.

He slants his head back against the brick wall and closes his eyes, ignoring the creature.

"Oh, come on, hunter, you can't be serious about not talking to me. I don't know if you noticed, but there's not exactly an abundance of company here. It's just you and me. No one else to talk to."

"So I don't talk. Works for me." Rob doesn't bother opening his eyes, a deliberate show of disregard even though his hunter instincts are screaming at him not to leave a vamp unobserved. Never take your eyes off an enemy and all that crap. As long as the iron bars are holding, he doesn't think he'll have to worry about it.

"Sure, today. Maybe tomorrow. But give it a week or two and you'll be happy to exchange a few words with whoever's around, and even bad company's starting to look better than no company at all."

A week or two? Fuck. It's only been a few hours and Rob's already going out of his head. 

"How long have you been here, exactly?" he asks, before he remembers that he wasn't going to engage the vampire.

"Two months, one week and 27 hours." Rob's eyes go wide and the vampire chuckles, low and amused. "What? You asked."

Being able to tell the time so exactly must be convenient. Creepy as hell, but convenient. Rob isn't even sure if he's been down here for two hours or five; he's certain that in a few weeks, he'd find it hard to tell the months from the years, much less measure time in hours that have passed since the beginning of his captivity. Of course, a freakishly exact inner clock isn't worth much when it comes at the loss of your soul and your humanity.

Rob doesn't want to dwell on the length of the vampire's imprisonment, or what it implies for him.

"So, you gonna tell me your name or do I have to keep calling you _hunter_? Because that's gonna get tiresome really fast."

"I'd rather you don't call me anything," Rob bites out, but his tone is lacking the sharpness and the conviction it had earlier. He mulls over the question, but he can see no harm in telling the vampire his name. Not like it'll be able to do anything with it, and as soon as they're free, however long that'll take, he'll put a stake in its unbeating heart anyway. "I'm Rob."

"Ah. Short for Robert?"

Rob winces. Only his father called him 'Robert', and his father was an asshole who kicked his kids around when he had a few glasses too many, which usually happened on days that ended in -y. "Short for Rob."

"Okay, Rob then," the vampire says, amicable enough that it makes the hair at Rob's back stand to attention. "I'd say nice to meet you, but it seems like bad form to start with a lie. I'm Daniel."

Right. 

"Think because you give me a human name I'm gonna stop seeing you as the monster you are? Not gonna work, vampire."

He's dead serious, but his words prompt a chuckle anyway. "God, you're exhausting. It's not some sneaky attempt to undermine your precious hunter philosophy or anything. It's literally my name." The vampire grins, teeth gleaming in the dim lights. "Sorry my mother didn't think to call me Vlad. I'm sure that would have fit better into your world-view."

"Fuck right off," Rob mutters under his breath. 

He didn't know vampires had a sense of humor. Shitty humor, but whatever. It's the kind of knowledge he could have done without.

#

At some point while Rob is trying to get some sleep on the ratty old mattress, a tray with food – a bland, shapeless pulp that may or may not be mashed potatoes – and a bottle of water are pushed through a flap in the door he didn't notice before. So much for attacking his captors when they come in.

It tastes as bad as it looks, but he digs in anyway because he's so damn famished that his stomach is growling. What he wouldn't give for a nice, juicy steak right now, or even that terrible half-burnt pizza they serve at the diner down the street with the middle-aged waitress who always gives him a slice of apple pie on the house. 

He squints through the bars to the vampire, who's watching him.

"No food for you?" he asks, full mouth slurring the words, before his brain kicks in and he remembers what a dumb fucking question that is. 

"Nope. So far, our kind hosts haven't shown much interest in feeding me."

Rob gulps down another spoonful of hopefully-potato mash when the full meaning of what the vampire said hits him. "Wait, what d'you mean, 'so far'? You said you've been here for what? Two months?" He frowns. 

The vampire shrugs. "My kind can go without food for a while. It's not a big deal."

The casual nonchalance seems strained, though. 

Rob knows a thing or two about vampires. Probably not as much as he should. It's hard to keep track of where the legends end and the truth begins. But hunting those bloodsuckers, killing them and trying not to get killed in the process, means he had to study them. Know your enemy, whatever. And he's fairly sure that there's a limit to how long they can do without blood before they go from undead to dead-dead, and that limit is probably closer to months than decades. 

"A while's not forever," he says. 

Judging by the silence he receives in response, for once the vampire doesn't seem to be up for a chat. Just as well.

#

"Tell me something about yourself," the vampire says.

Rob stops playing tic-tac-toe against himself on the dusty stones and looks up. 

He's pretty much given up on holding on to his silence. If nothing else, he needs the vampire to give him semi-regular updates on how much time has passed. Six days now. Six days, three hours and... Fuck knows how many minutes it's been since he last asked. Impossible to tell, stuck in a room with no window and no clock. For a human, at least. 

Six fucking days. It feels like sixty. 

Doesn't mean he wants to make _small talk_ with the bloodsucker.

"And why the hell would I do that?" 

The vampire huffs and lets the back of its head hit the wall behind it with a muffled thud. "Because I'm bored, and even with an eidetic memory, going through _Twilight_ in my mind isn't all that much fun. And honestly, I could use some distraction from the hunger. Come on, Rob, indulge me."

Rob bristles at the sound of his name, the easy way it rolls off the vampire's tongue, as if they're friends. 

"Yeah? Whaddaya wanna know?" he asks, even though he has no intention of actually sharing anything about himself. For all he knows, it's some kind of ploy to fish for hunter secrets. There's no way he's gonna fall for that.

"I don't know. Your favorite movie. Or what you like to do on a Friday night, other than roaming in the dark to stake vampires. Or what your childhood was like, I guess? Anything. Like I said, I'm bored."

Rob wants to hold his tongue. He really fucking does. He doesn't owe a fucking vampire details about his life. He doesn't owe the guy anything, except for a stake to the heart and a bottle of holy water. 

But his anger is like a raging river and the words spill out of him before he can stop himself. "You wanna know about my childhood, huh? Some nice little bedtime story to distract yourself? Well, my mom was killed when I was a little kid. I was eight and my brother was twelve. And the kicker is, it only went fucking downhill from there."

He kicks his foot into the dirt, violently enough that a surge of pain cuts through his knee. It's not unwelcome. Anything to dull the vicious onset of those memories. He wants to hit something, wants to _kill_ something, but he's stuck in a closet-sized room talking to a fucking bloodsucker.

He can feel it looking at him, its stare prickling against his neck like a jolt of electricity. 

"It was a vampire, wasn't it? What killed your mother, I mean."

Rob's head snaps up, glaring at the vampire. "Why d'ya say that?" He shouldn't have let it goad him into revealing anything. If it even was a reveal. Maybe the vampire knows more about him than it lets on. Maybe it's— 

"That anger of yours, all that hatred. It has to come from somewhere."

Right. Just guesswork then. And it ain't exactly wrong.

"Yeah? Maybe I'm just an angry guy," Rob suggests, acerbic and sullen, but the moment of blinding rage has already passed and he's too worn out to rouse it back to life.

Something about the way the vampire is looking at him with that bottomless, dark-eyed gaze makes him uncomfortable. There's something akin to sympathy in that look. An understanding Rob doesn't want and has no idea what to do with. 

"No one is that angry without a good reason," the vampire says.

Rob frowns. He isn't sure if that's true. He's dealt with a hell of a lot of angry people in his life. The guys at the bar who are always ranting about shit. Other hunters he crossed paths with. The kids who kicked his ass in school. And his dad... he used to be angry all the time, even when Rob's mom was still around. He'd always have a reason, sure, a shitload of them. Whether they count for _good reasons_ is up to anyone's guess.

"I don't need a reason to hate you bloodsuckers. Even if my life had been all sunshine and roses, I'd still rather see you turn into a pile of dust than walk around biting people." 

Would he, though? He tries to infuse a conviction into the words he doesn't feel. Even if he'd sooner eat his tongue than admit it, the vampire's got a point. If things had turned out differently, Rob probably wouldn't have carved his first stake at twelve, or left his home to take on hunting when he was seventeen. He probably wouldn't be stuck in some ratty underground prison now, either, left to die of boredom.

The thought reminds him to ask a question he's been curious about for a while now. 

"Hey, vampire," he calls out. "What's gonna happen when you starve?"

There's no response for a while, and Rob wonders if he's gonna get one at all. He refuses to feel guilty about his bluntness. 

Pushing himself up, he steps closer to the other cell, careful to keep out of rage if the vampire surged up and made a grab for him. It remains where it is, though, its head craned up to look at Rob.

"The same thing that happens when humans starve. My body grows weaker and eventually shuts down, and then I die and turn to dust. It just happens a lot slower than with humans. Well, at least for the first bit. So you only have to wait long enough and you'll be sharing this cell with nothing but a few specs of dust." Lips curling into a smile that seems out of place, the vampire adds, "Maybe until then I'll have managed to get you to call me by my name."

Rob snorts. "Don't hold your breath."

"Good thing I don't have to breathe then, isn't it?"

Despite himself, Rob can't hold back the huff of laughter.

#

The bruises from where he was roughed up and knocked out have stopped aching after a week, with nothing left behind but faint yellowish marks and a wounded ego. Both make him wince when he prods them. It's a fucking travesty that those asshats got the better of him. No one's managed to do that in years, and certainly not a bunch of guys as human as he is. He got sloppy, most likely, sloppy and careless, and it's pissing him off.

Since the vampire and he seem to be playing some fucked up, prolonged version of Twenty Questions now, he figures it's his turn to get some information.

"How did you end up in here, anyway? Not like they could have overpowered you."

Could be useful to know, for when he's out of here and back on the hunt. He prefers taking his prey out, clean and straight, no dilly-dallying, but maybe there'll be a time when knowing how to capture one of those fuckers will come in handy. 

The vampire shrugs. "They tricked me."

"That ain't an answer."

"It's a long story. I was distracted. Trust me, it's not something you'd wanna try for yourself." The vampire chuckles, dry and humorless in a way that could be self-deprecating or mocking. 

Rob scowls. He doesn't like being made fun of. "How do _you_ know?"

Dark eyes look him up and down, in a way that feels measuring and visceral. 

They're leaning up against opposing walls, as far away from each other as their cramped prison allows, but despite the distance, Rob could almost swear that he could physically _feel_ that gaze on him, heavy like a touch.

"Call it a hunch," the vampire says, with the kind of finality that makes it clear that no further prodding will get Rob the answer he wants.

#

During the nights, the lights go off. At least Rob thinks it's nighttime, but since he has no way of knowing the time down here, it might just be another way for their captors to fuck with them. Rob stares at the ceiling and wills himself to fall asleep, but he's been fighting a headache on and off for days now, and he's got a bad craving for a burger and a beer or two that only gets worse the more he tries not to think about it.

It's driving him crazy, a steady nudge on the edge of his consciousness that gets more and more insistent until he gives up on the attempt to sleep.

"Yo, vampire!"

He doesn't get any reaction, not even a shuffle or a grunt. If he didn't know better, he'd think his cellmate was asleep. But vampires don't sleep. One of the first things Rob learnt as a rookie hunter, a lesson that almost got him killed. 

"I know you can hear me," he says, louder. He sits up and swings his legs off the narrow cot, squinting into the darkness in an attempt to make out anything in the other cell, or at least detect some kind of motion, but there's nothing. Maybe the crazy old lore about vampires being able to turn into bats is true after all.

Bullshit. That's a dumb thought, but Rob can't help it. The silence and the blackness are starting to mess with him. 

"Daniel? Where the fuck are you?"

"Right here," a voice says, sounding much closer than Rob expected. 

A sudden flash of light cuts through the dark and Rob yelps. It takes a second or two for his eyes to adjust and he can see the vampire standing right at the division between their cells, his arms looped casually through the iron bars and a lighter in his hands, the flame flickering restlessly.

The orange light casts a warm glow on the vampire's face, and suddenly it's easy to imagine what he must have looked as a human, a dark-haired stranger with a blush on his face and a cheeky smile, too pretty for his own good. Rob might've tried to pick him up if he'd run into him at a club. 

Shit. He blinks, trying to shake off the thought, sending a dark glare the vampire's way for good measure.

"Where did you think I'd go? Fly off?" 

It's close enough to what Rob had imagined that he bites his tongue and decides to keep quiet. His silence is clearly some kind of give-away because the vampire laughs.

"Seriously? If I could do that, I'd have been out of here a long time ago."

Rob shrugs. "Maybe you could have. Maybe this is some kind of long con." It's bullshit and he knows it, but he enjoys putting the idea out there, just to see how the vampire's gonna react, if he's gonna get defensive or angry.

Apparently, it takes more to get a rise out of him than some half-assed accusation. All he does is roll his eyes. "Ah, yes, you got me. I'm just sticking around for the excellent accommodation. Stellar view, modern facilities, gourmet food. Five star rating on TripAdvisor."

His tone is mild and amused, and the thing is, Rob can perfectly picture him sitting at some fancy antique desk, furiously typing on a laptop while nursing a glass of AB-negative. He'd leave a scathing review with a lot of big, fancy terms, demanding compensation for his discomfort. Rob, now... Rob would have some choice words for his own review. Especially about the shitty food. 

"You forgot the charming company," Rob adds, unable to resist the temptation to join in on the joke, even if it's with a bloodsucker. 

"It could be worse." 

The vampire looks at Rob with a faint half-smile that seems both mocking and strangely fond. The warm hues of the flame give that piercing gaze of his an intensity that makes Rob feel awkward and self-conscious. He turns his head away, scraping at the dirt with his foot.

"What did you want to ask?" the vampire asks after a beat of silence that stretches too long to be comfortable.

Rob looks up again, unsurprised to find the vampire still watching him. "Nothing. It's not important." 

Any reasonable person would let it go, but it figures that the vampire is neither a person nor reasonable. "Important enough that you willingly engaged in conversation," he points out. "At two in the morning."

"I was just bored. Couldn't sleep. No eidetic memory to keep me busy either," Rob quips. 

The vampire flashes him a fanged grin in return. It shouldn't feel like an _achievement_ to get that out of him, something that makes a rush of pride well up in Rob. What the fuck's wrong with him? 'Dear Diary, today I made some dumbass wisecrack and got my vampire buddy to smile.' He's fucked in the head, that's what he is. He needs to get his act together and soon.

Maybe that's why he presses on and asks what he's been meaning to ask even when he damn well knows that he shouldn't. 

"Do you remember the first time you killed someone?"

This time, he doesn't look away. He makes himself hold the vampire's gaze, watching his eyes become hard and narrow and the smile slip from his face, all traces of mirth wiped away between one second and the next. 

"Don't think I ever did. Kill a human, I mean."

Rob snorts. "Right. Sure you didn't." 

"I know you think we're all monstrous killers who rip out throats and eat people's hearts for breakfast, but the vampires who do that kind of thing usually meet the business end of a stake pretty fast. There's no upside to killing, not unless you're the type who enjoys it. Most of us leave the humans we feed from alive. Easier to fly under the radar when you don't leave a trail of dead bodies, and you get to come back for second helpings. Win-win for everyone around."

He makes it sound restrained and clean and so damn _normal_, it makes Rob want to hurl. He's seen what those fuckers do, a decade of having a first row seat to the kind of carnage vampires leave in their wake.

"Bullshit," he spits. He's on his feet and halfway across his cell before he even thinks about what he's doing. "If you think for a minute that I'm buying that crap—"

The vampire doesn't let him finish the thread, cutting him off. "Why? Because then you'd have to feel guilty for killing us?"

What the— 

"Guilty? You got some nerve, pal. You're already fucking _dead!_ Can't kill something that's kicked off half a century ago, now can I?"

Rob doesn't realize he's gotten too close, dangerously close, until he notices the heat of the fire against his bare arms. 

Rob should step back before the vampire remembers how easy it would be to grab him and tear into his neck. If anyone asked, he couldn't explain why he doesn't. Why he shoves that voice of reason aside and stares the vampire down like it's some kind of contest. Why he watches the lighter waver in his clenched fist and his jaw work like he's getting ready to bite down.

"Undead, not dead. Doesn't mean we don't have the same stupid hopes and dreams and feelings like every other human. Friends who'll miss us when we're dust. Or that we don't feel pain. Because let me tell you, Rob, going hungry for three months is fucking agony. And even though I have no personal experience with it, I can't imagine that having your heart pierced by a pointy piece of wood is any better." 

And then he moves, so fast Rob can't react. But instead of lunging at Rob, he turns around and kicks the bench, the metal creaking under the force of it. Rob flinches. It's the first ripple in the vampire's calm, composed demeanor Rob has seen since he got here, and Rob can't look away, can't even bring himself to retreat to his cot where he'd be safe – or as safe as he can be, beaten and kidnapped by a bunch of freaks and locked up with a starving vampire.

When the vampire turns back towards him, the anger flashing in his eyes is frightening in a way that has little to do with otherworldly terror of vampires. It's a deeply human emotion Rob sees reflected back at him, and he isn't sure if that makes it better or worse.

"So, you know," the vampire continues, and his tone is as sharp as those lethal fangs of his, "I get wanting revenge for your mother. I get that you're resentful and out for blood. Metaphorically speaking. But stop trying to make yourself believe you're out there doing some great heroic deed with no collateral damage. I don't believe that the world's black and white, good vs. bad. But if I did, you wouldn't come down in the 'good' column."

Rob bellows out a brief laugh, too stunned to muster up proper anger. "Sure. A vamp telling me that I'm the bad guy here. That's rich."

But even he hears the lack of conviction in his own voice.

The thing is, Rob knows he's not some kind of hero. He's just a guy. And sure, maybe he thinks putting vampires down is the right thing, maybe he thinks that someone's gotta do the job to keep people safer. But that ain't why he's not out there hunting them. He does it because he likes it, because he's good at it, because it helps quell the red hot burning fury inside of him, at least for a little while.

Doesn't make him the bad guy. Doesn't make him a good guy either. The idea that the same is true for the vampires he's hunting is a hell of a lot harder to swallow.

"You know what, forget it. I'm going back to sleep." 

Rob returns to the far wall of his cell and lies back down. He closes his eyes, waiting for the vampire to get the last word in. After a few seconds, the lighter goes out and the darkness descends again. 

"Sorry." The vampire's voice is low and muffled, like he's further away again. "I'm just— I'm so fucking hungry and I'm tired of being stuck down here, and I sometimes feel like the walls are closing in on me. I didn't mean to go off on you. Please don't stop talking to me again."

He sounds— 

He sounds fucking miserable and too goddamn pitiful, and Rob really doesn't want to feel sorry for him. But he knows how it feels, being so alone and cut off from everything that you welcome any kind of company, any kind of connection at all. They're both stuck in this hellhole together, for better or worse. Rob doesn't think he'd be able to go back to his vow of silence, even if he wanted.

"It's okay. Let's just... sleep. Well, I sleep. You do whatever creepy thing you guys do when you rest."

It's a sad, dumb attempt to get the vampire to smile again. It's impossible to tell if he succeeds. It's dark enough that Rob couldn't even see the hand in front of his face, much less the face of the man on the other side of the bars.

"Good night, Rob."

Rob grunts and turns onto his side, his back to the other cell, the springs of the cot creaking as he moves. It's dark and quiet and he's alone with his thoughts, sleep more elusive than ever.

#

Days trickle by, turning into weeks.

Sometimes Rob thinks he's going crazy. The routine is setting him on edge almost more than the growing sense of claustrophobia. The ice cold shower in the morning, the bland, awful meals two times a day, probably at the exact same time every day, and endless hours in-between with nothing to do but think and talk and do some stupid work-outs that are probably pointless because if he's never getting out of this joint, his ability to do two-hundred push-ups won't really help him much.

"I can hear you thinking," Daniel says.

"Reading minds now, huh? Thought that was just some dumb _Twilight_ shit." 

It would be a neat power to have, if it were real. Maybe they could figure out what their captors want, or even a way out of here. Then again, he's not too keen on having his own mind read. It's bad enough that they got so used to each other that it's getting harder and harder to conceal things.

"Nah, it's all true. We sparkle in the sun, too." The quip falls a little flat, though, and Daniel's smile is dimmer than it used to be.

Rob frowns. He's been trying his damnedest not to notice, but it's getting increasingly harder to ignore that Daniel's fading before his eyes, moving slower and smiling less, the conversation becoming more often stilted. 

It shouldn't matter. He should be glad. One vampire less, or soon enough. But the thought doesn't sit right with him, uncomfortably churning in his gut. It's not that he's particularly attached to Daniel or anything. He just doesn't want to be all alone in this shithole, that's all.

"You gotta show me some time," he says, trying to make a joke of it.

The corners of Daniel's mouth twitch faintly and he leans back against the wall behind his cot, his dark-eyed gaze wistful and far-away. "Yeah. Wouldn't that be something?"

#

It's the day after he watches Daniel stumble and have to steady himself with a hand on the bars that Rob makes up his mind.

He's spent a sleepless night tossing and turning, thinking about it. Trying hard to listen to the voice of reason that keeps telling him he's gone nuts and should get himself checked into the bug house if he ever gets out of here. Trying to rouse his hunter instincts, years of being sure in the knowledge that only a vampire with a stake through his heart is a good vampire. And yeah, sure, some part of him still believes that, even now. 

But even if Daniel was right and Rob's maybe not a good guy, he's not the kind of guy who wants to sit by and watch someone die. At least not someone like Daniel, who enjoys making small talk, and gets a kick out of reading shitty vampire novels, and who may or may not never have killed a human in his undead existence. Who has a good sense of humor that meshes a little too well with Rob's, and the most attractive smile he's ever seen on a vampire. Or anyone else, in a long time, if he's being honest. 

Daniel is real hard to dislike, and Rob's tired, so fucking tired, of trying.

He steps closer to the other cell and ignores the way his heart is hammering like it wants to leap out of his chest. "Hey, c'mere."

"What's wrong?" Daniel sits up. His complexion is paler than ever, almost translucent, and the shadows under his eyes give him a sickly appearance.

Taking a deep breath, Rob puts his arm through the bars, holding it out with his inner wrist turned upwards in a wordless invitation. He really doesn't want to spell it out, but he figures his intentions are fairly clear.

But maybe not clear enough, because Daniel is regarding him like he's grown a second head.

"Come on, already, before I change my mind." Rob looks away, avoiding the uncomfortable intensity of Daniel's gaze. "I must be fucking crazy," he mutters under his breath.

Even though he expects it, he still jumps when Daniel touches his arm. Cold fingers loosely circle Rob's wrist, holding on for a moment before sliding down to cradle his hand. 

"Are you sure?" he asks, and Rob makes the mistake of looking at him. 

Up close, with the lights on, Daniel's eyes aren't black at all, they're dark green and vibrant and – even as weak and sullen as he is now – there's more life in them than a vampire has any business clinging to. There's a lot of things Rob isn't sure of anymore, but right there, the one thing he knows is that he doesn't want Daniel to die. 

He swallows thickly and nods.

Endless seconds pass before Daniel finally raises Rob's arm to his face, entwining their fingers. And then his mouth is at Rob's wrist, chapped lips dragging distractingly across his skin, and Rob's instincts are screaming for him to pull back. Ignoring the urge is easier than it should be. He holds perfectly still and watches in horrified fascination as Daniel shows his fangs and bites down. 

There's pain, sharp and acute. 

It hurts like a bitch for about a second or two, and then it doesn't. 

Rob feels warm and floaty and weird, but not in a bad way. Like when you had too much to drink but you're still clear enough in the head to know it, halfway to getting properly shitfaced but not quite there yet. When somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that things are shit and there's stuff you should be worrying about, but you forgot what it was and, fuck it, it doesn't really matter as long as that nice, easy buzz lingers.

He sways forward, leaning his head against cool metal, relishing in the sensation. It feels good. Everything feels good. The soft pressure on his hand, the tingling in his arm, the low undercurrent of arousal.

He tries to hold on to it and ride it out, but reality intrudes into his sweet bubble of weightlessness too soon.

"—alright? Rob? Rob, do you hear me?"

There's a hand at the back of his neck, the touch startlingly warm. Something's wrong with that, but Rob can't remember what it is. 

Slowly, Daniel's face swims into focus. 

"Hey. Welcome back."

Rob blinks until his vision clears. He almost asks what happened, but then he remembers. Shit, that was— something. 

He looks down at his wrist where the twin wounds from Daniel's teeth are barely visible anymore, so different from all the gruesome, bloodied carnage from vampire feeding he's seen. Daniel's fingers, warmer now and almost a healthy human skin color, are still interwoven with his own, and his other hand is a reassuring weight against his neck.

Rob takes a step back, away from Daniel and his touch and the sense memories of how it felt to have those teeth sinking into his veins.

"I'm fine," he says. It's not, strictly speaking, true. He's got a boner and a headache, which is a really shitty combination.

Daniel flashes him a brilliant smile that's only offset by the tiny spot of blood at the corner of his mouth. 

"Good. Because I've got something to do," he says. 

And then he barrels at the door of his cell, so fast that Rob feels dizzy looking at him. The metal screeches and cracks, and the next thing Rob knows, there's a man-sized hole in it and Daniel is gone.

What the _fuck?!_

Rob stares into the empty cell, not sure if he just saw what he saw or if the blood loss is making him hallucinate.

#

He doesn't think Daniel will be back, so when after a few minutes the door of his own cell blasts from the hinges, Rob makes what's probably an embarrassing noise of surprise and stumbles backwards.

Daniel gives him an amused look, his smirk saying that he knows exactly what Rob was thinking. 

"So, are you coming?" 

There's an energy about him that's new, an air of danger he's radiating now that wasn't there before. For the first time since Rob met him, he seems like the predator he is. It's not like Rob had forgotten; it was always there, at the back of his mind, but there's a difference between knowing something and seeing it.

It should make him recoil and reach for the stake he doesn't have on him. It should be scaring the everlasting shit out of him. But it doesn't. 

He hides his relief behind a scowl. "Why the hell didn't you tell me that you could just break down the fucking door if you had a bit to drink? We could have been out of here months ago."

"Really? You refused to even acknowledge that I had _a name_ for weeks. Forgive me for thinking that asking for a bite probably wouldn't fly with you."

He's got a point. It makes Rob wonder, though, if Daniel was actively counting on Rob offering. If that's what all the friendly chit-chat and the chummy act were about. But he can't get Daniel's broken voice out of his head when he said _"Please don't stop talking to me again."_, or the sincere surprise when he asked Rob if he was sure. None of that seemed fake, and it's not like Daniel didn't have plenty of chances to take without waiting for an offer when Rob carelessly got too close.

"Fair enough," he says, grudgingly dragging the words out.

Daniel's smile widens, showing off his teeth. He still hasn't wiped off the small crimson stain on his cheek, and Rob's eyes keep flickering towards it. 

"Come on, let's get out of here," Daniel urges, motioning with his head to the ruined door and the darkness that lies behind. "No one's here now, but if they get back before we're gone, I ain't gonna promise that I won't kill them."

"Get me a weapon, and I might help you finish them off," Rob mutters.

#

The prison leads into some kind of basement, and then up the stairs to a hatch that's deadbolted from the other side. Daniel tears through it like it's made of paper, and then they're outside, in the middle of some kind of massive forest. It seems to go on and on forever, and they walk for so long that Rob's legs start to feel numb and his feet hurt.

The first breath of fresh air and sunlight on his skin has been heavenly, fucking amazing, but Rob's elation about being free dissipates the longer they spend roaming through the trees with branches hitting his face and the sinking suspicion that they're walking circles.

"This is some fucking _Blair Witch_ shit," he complains.

Daniel laughs. He doesn't even seem to be out of breath, and he looks ridiculously fresh-faced for someone who spent several months in captivity. "It's only about ten minutes until we get to the road. Maybe less if you stop dawdling."

Rob flips him off. Fuck him, not everyone can have freakish powers and vampire stamina. 

"Sorry my being human is inconveniencing you. Didn't hear you bitching about it when you were using me as the vampire version of an energy drink." He rests his back against the trunk of a massive tree for a moment, waiting for his legs to feel a little less like pudding. "Just let me catch my breath for a second, yeah?"

"Are you okay?" 

Something strange is going on with Daniel's expression, and it takes Rob a moment to figure out that the furrowed brow and the wary look are _concern_. He almost snaps back that no, shit, he's not fucking okay. He was trapped in a basement for four months and he lost a bunch of blood to a hungry vampire and now they've been trudging through the woods for hours. He's so fucking far from okay, it's not even on the same continent anymore.

But Daniel's concern is grating in a way that burrows under Rob's skin like a persistent thorn he can't get out. Or the tip of a fang digging into his flesh. He doesn't know what he'd do with more of that, and admitting a weakness feels too much like asking for comfort. 

"Fine," he says, a brusque brush-off that he hopes won't invite further questions. 

He leans his head back against the rough bark, squinting at Daniel. There's a quip about how his disappointing lack of sparkling in the sun on his tongue, but his eyes are drawn once again to the spot of blood next to Daniel's mouth, long dried now and darker than before. Should probably get rid of that before they get back to civilization and they run into someone who's starting to ask questions. 

"You got some blood—" He motions towards Daniel's cheek, assuming that'll get the point across.

It does and doesn't. Daniel wipes at his mouth but misses the stain, frowning at his clean hand.

Rob rolls his eyes. With a huff, he leans forward, his hand on Daniel's cheek, dragging his thumb across the bloody skin.

He doesn't even manage to properly get it off before Daniel's hand snaps up and his fingers close around Rob's wrist, holding him in place with a grip too firm to pull away from but just shy of bruising. 

When the immediate adrenaline rush passes, Rob tries to relax, letting his arm go slack. "Easy, man. Just helping you clean up."

His palm is still touching Daniel's face, and it's hard not to not to notice that his skin hasn't lost the warm, rosy glow from his recent feeding. From _Rob's blood_, and shouldn't that be a disturbing thought? But the memories from the high and the rush of pleasure are still too fresh and he can't deny the warm, pleased feeling in his gut. He lets his fingertips graze the lively flush, lingering for a second or two before he tries to pull back, but Daniel's grip is impossible to escape. 

"What the—" 

The way Daniel is looking at him makes his words die in his throat. 

"I'm... gonna do something," Daniel says, the hesitance and softness in his voice at odds with the hunger in his gaze. "Don't stake me, okay?" 

_Stake you with what?_ Rob wants to ask. Even if he could get out of the firm hold keeping him in place, he doesn't have a weapon on him and using a random, unsharpened branch to stake a vampire only works in shitty horror movies.

And then Daniel steps into his space, so close that Rob can smell the faint iron scent clinging to him, and the mechanics of woodcarving are the furthest thing from his mind. There's fear and excitement and, most of all, the thrum of anticipation, like the stillness before the onset of a storm. He expects teeth in his neck, but not Daniel's mouth on his, his lips tentative and warm and no longer chapped.

It's not much of a kiss; for what feels like an endless moment, they're just pressed together, mouth on mouth, Daniel's fingers stroking the pulse point of Rob's wrist and their bodies touching. Rob's heartbeat is frantic and his blood is roaring in his ear, fight-or-flight instincts setting in, kicking him into action.

With his free hand he reaches out, grabbing a fistful of Daniel's shirt and pulling him in closer, as close as it gets, chest to chest. He kisses back, open-mouthed and harsh, biting at Daniel's lips until they fall open and Rob licks into his mouth without care for those sharp fangs. He barely notices the sting when he cuts his tongue, only the warm rush of blood and the metallic taste afterwards.

Daniel makes a low, needy sound deep in his throat that goes straight to Rob's dick. He kisses Daniel harder, deeper, almost violently, and all those weeks and months of pent-up tension between them boil over. 

The grip on Rob's wrist falls away, Daniel's hands coming up to cradle Rob's face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rob knows that it wouldn't take much effort at all for Daniel to tighten his hold, kill him before Rob would even have a chance to protest. He never got it before, the whole stupid vampire thing that has chicks throwing themselves at them, getting off on the danger, but fuck, maybe it's some kind of creepy vampire power, making people get all fucked in the head. Or maybe it's just Daniel, with his stupid green eyes and his stupid smiles and his stupid kindness, who Rob suspects wouldn't hurt him unless he gave him no choice, and maybe not even then.

His cock is already hard and straining against his jeans when Daniel's leg pushes between his knees, rubbing at his crotch. 

Daniel breaks the kiss and lets his mouth trail down the side of Rob's neck, wet and hot against the vulnerable skin. Rob groans, a steady flow of curses spilling out of him. 

"Come on, fuck, do it," he urges Daniel on, gracelessly humping Daniel's thigh. His gut clenches, arousal and shame curling into a hot, wild mess. He can't even tell what it is that he wants anymore, Daniel's bite or his cock, if he's chasing orgasm or the high from being fed on.

Daniel hums against his skin. Teeth graze Rob's neck, light and teasing, nowhere near hard enough to break the skin, but it doesn't even fucking matter. Rob comes in his pants like a horny teenage boy making out with the cheerleader (well, with the star jock, more like) under the bleachers. 

It's crude and embarrassing, but damn if it isn't the best orgasm he's had in a long fucking time. And not just because he didn't exactly get around to rubbing one out while stuck in a basement with no privacy.

Daniel's groan is half-stifled in the crook of Rob's neck, barely audible. But Rob feels it vibrating against his carotid, and he can't stop himself from craning his head and baring his neck further, his entire body feeling oversensitized. The knowledge that those sharp teeth are right above his skin, less than an inch away from sinking into his flesh, is heady, like a rush that didn't ebb away with his climax. 

"Shit." Daniel chuckles, his voice is raw enough that Rob is pretty sure he wasn't the only one who got off. If that makes it better or worse, he's got no clue. 

"Since you were asking before... That's how I got myself captured." 

"Huh?" Rob's brain hasn't rebooted enough to understand what Daniel's saying.

Daniel disentangles himself from him and takes a step back. "You asked me how I ended up in that cell. I hooked up with a guy and he injected me with some kind of holy water stuff when I was distracted."

That's... not what Rob expected. For some reason, the idea makes him angry, and it makes him even angrier that he can't tell whether it's protectiveness or possessiveness churning in his stomach, or which one of them would be worse. "You got shitty taste in guys, man."

"I think I do okay," Daniel says with a small smile. 

He looks at Rob with too much feeling in his eyes, too much meaning, too much softness. Too much of everything, and Rob wants to turn his back and walk away because, fuck, he's in too deep already in a way that he never allowed himself to get before, and that's not even taking into account who – _what_ – Daniel is. 

Doesn't explain why he's lingering instead of running for the hills, or why he's asking, "What's gonna happen now?"

Daniel eyes him in silence for a moment. "I don't know. I guess I'll go home, take a shower, find something to eat." He cracks a smile. "Not necessarily in that order."

As if on cue, Rob's stomach starts growling. "Same. Shit, I can't wait to have a proper burger. Or some nice rare steak. And a fucking beer. Right after I get myself some fresh clothes. This stuff is vile."

Daniel stays where he is, several feet away, in a distance that should by all accounts be safe to avoid all kinds of intimacy. But when his gaze looks Rob up and down, it feels measuring and heavy like a touch. "There's a diner a block away from my place. And I probably have a shirt and a pair of jeans you could borrow."

"Right." Rob snorts. "I guess I would be your meal in that scenario?"

He's only half-joking, but it still makes Daniel laugh out loud. His tone is sincere and warm, though, when he says, "Only if you want to be."

Awkwardly putting his hands in his pockets, Rob looks away. "I don't know, man, that's—" 

His voice trails off. He can't even put into words _what_ the hell is it. Stupid. Insane. Reckless. Against everything he stands for. 

Too fucking tempting.

"Come on, Rob," Daniel gently pushes. "We spent over four months together. What's one more day? Especially when it comes with some good food and no bars locking us in. And a proper bed."

_Just one more day_, Rob thinks. Daniel isn't asking for the rest of forever. 

Maybe Daniel is just too damn good at not asking for anything Rob isn't ready for, waiting instead until it's freely given. It's a theory Rob files under stuff he will give proper thought to when he gets a good night's sleep and a clear head.

Until then—

"Fine. Whatever. Why not?"

Daniel's smile is brilliant and full of teeth, fangs gleaming in the sunlight, and it's the prettiest goddamn smile Rob has ever seen.

End.


End file.
